


hold me together

by mallory



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, LLF Comment Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She shoots him a look—and his chest explodes or something because she looks so much like a disapproving mother already. “I’m four hours late because you didn't help me get out of bed and left <em>without</em> me.”</p><p>For Rosie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold me together

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't have finished this at a better time. Congrats, Fumeros.
> 
> Edited: 28/8/16

Jake enters the bullpen after stepping out of the elevator and frowns at the group of people gathered at the area around his desk.

_Aw, they’re all waiting for me._

Before he can proudly announce his arrival, Terry’s towering figure, standing directly behind Jake’s desk, shuffles out of the circle to reveal his darling Amy sitting at her desk.

Gasping scandalously, Jake approaches with a heavy frown.

His wife is about a month away from popping and she’s supposed to be chilling and taking an early maternity leave. That means no work. He escaped early this morning specifically to avoid her sad pregnant eyes and her alluring big pregnant belly to either keep him from the precinct or being roped into bringing her here, where he knows she’ll only try to schmooze her way into working on a case.

He takes Terry’s vacated spot between Gina and Rosa. Amy’s been kind of grumpy lately, so he forces out a sweet, “Amy, my baking soufflé. What are you doing here?”

She splays her hands across her desk, throwing a side-eye to Scully towering beside her, mesmerised by the sunglasses jerking atop her floral-printed dress-clad bump where it seems little baby Peralta is lapping up the attention. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she huffs. “I’m working.”

“She’s _trying_ to work,” Rosa corrects. “But she's not allowed any cases.”

“She has cray-cray pregnancy strength. I had to wrestle the folder you had on your desk from her hands.” Gina holds out a finger and tilts it accusingly in Jake’s direction, like it’s his fault somehow.

Amy’s mouth drops open. “I was proof-reading,” she defends.

Jake smiles indulgently, bending over to brace his hands against his desk. "Well, you’re twelve weeks early to work.”

She shoots him a look—and his chest explodes or something because she looks so much like a disapproving mother already. “I’m four hours late because you didn't help me get out of bed and left _without_ me.”

“Muffin, if it takes you four hours to get from our bed to the precinct you shouldn’t be working.” He's a little concerned at the thought of her waddling around the apartment and out on the streets without his being there to supervise her. She could have slipped and fallen or gone into labour and he wouldn’t have been there to prevent or help.

(His chest explodes for an entirely different reason now and not in a good way.)

“Stop using baked goods as pet names,” she grouches.

“I think it’s adorable,” Boyle butts in, bending forward to look at Jake from beside Gina. “Jake, I can write you a list I think sound the cutest that you could use on Amy. Some examples include vatrushka, snickerdoodle, punschkrapfen—”

Amy sighs irritatedly, moving the sunglasses from her belly to her desk. “Please disperse."

Scully makes a disappointed noise.

“Amy.” Terry suddenly appears, armed with a glass of water and two packets of crackers from the break room’s vending machine. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Terry.” She accepts and places them on her desk. “At least _someone_ wants me here.”

“Hey, I want you here,” Jake exclaims.

Amy rolls her eyes with disbelief.

“I do. But seriously, you need to take it easy.” He nudges Terry. “Sarge, back me up on this.”

“He has a point.” Terry nods. “Labour is just around the corner and you need to save your energy. It’s no walk in the park. I don’t know how my wife did it. Terry hates watching her in pain.”

Amy’s face crumple unexpectedly and Jake jumps with concern before stepping around the Sergeant to kneel at her side. “Hey, hey, hey,” he rushes out softly with wide eyes, pulling her chair around to face him. He clutches her yoga pants-covered knees and twists his upper body around to frown accusingly at Terry, though he has to tilt his head all the way back to meet his eyes. “Thanks a lot Sarge, you made her cry!”

Terry's face is apologetic and when he opens his mouth to speak, Jake cuts him off with the wave of his hand.

Turning back to Amy, he softens his gaze and rubs his thumbs soothingly into the little concave spot on the sides of her knees. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here. I was only worried; you could have hurt yourself.”

“I just need normal right now,” she mutters, the corners of her mouth turned down. Her fingers splay across her belly. “I feel like enough of a freak show with people staring, and I’m terrified about how much labour is going to hurt—people have _died_ from giving birth. Working is the only thing I can control and I just… Jake, I need this.”

Jake had no idea how distressed she’s been feeling and it makes him feel like the worst husband in the world that he didn’t pick up on it. “I'm sorry you feel that way. But you know, you’re the strongest person I know. If anyone can handle this, you can. You’re scared and I hate that I can’t do anything about it, so if you need to work, then okay. But your butt does not leave this seat, you hear me? Only move if you need to pee, but call me or anyone else to get you whatever you need.”

Amy nods, a hand coming up to swipe at her eye as the other reaches out and curls around to the back of his neck. He pulls up from his knees and bends over her to kiss her quickly. She sighs as he pulls away. “My feet are too sore to walk anyway.”

“Well, that I can help you with.” Jake moves to roll his desk chair over. Placing the chair beside her, he plops down and reaches for a foot to put into his lap. He pulls off her black flats and goes to work massaging the sole of her foot, smiling as she moans in relief.

“Oh god,” Gina croons disgustedly from her desk, “get a room!”

A burst of commotion draws his attention to the front of the precinct before he can hit back with a reply. Hitchcock and a uniformed officer are herding three white teenaged boys into the bullpen.

The one who looks beat up is ushered into the break room where he sees the back of Holt’s head. Hitchcock points to the other two and tells them to sit in his and Scully’s area. The one with a rattail salutes him sarcastically and falls into the one beside Scully’s desk.

The wiggling foot in his lap brings him back to his wife and he gently pinches a toe playfully. He takes a look down at his fingers wrapped around the top of her foot and notes that it feels a little swollen from the last time he gave her a foot massage two nights ago. His hands trail up to her ankle and calf, rubbing soothingly the bare skin that’s not covered by her yoga pants.

“Amy,” Boyle whispers loudly from his desk. “You can have my banana. I was going to cut it up and put it on my baked cheesecake for lunch, but you should have it. It’ll help the crackers go down your gullet easier.”

“Please don’t say gullet.” Jake grimaces the same time Amy sniffs and says softly, “Thank you, Charles.”

“What’s with the lady with the feet?” someone suddenly announces.

Jake turns around to see that the kid at Scully’s desk is looking at Amy, who’s grown still.

The kid smirks, slumping into a lazy position with his head resting against the back of his seat, and looks to Scully. “She’s almost as big as you, piggy.”

Jake frowns, a surge of something hot running through him. 

“Hey,” Scully cries weakly, quickly followed by an incomprehensible round of protests from the squad.

“Can it, you little shit,” Rosa growls from her desk.

“That was incredibly rude,” Boyle tuts disapprovingly.

“What? I’m just telling the truth, nothing but the truth,” Little Shit says mockingly, clasping his hands atop his chest, as if without a care in the world.

His friend, sitting behind him, nudges him. “Quit it, Ash.”

The bullpen is quiet as everyone watches him, tension thick in the air. The corner of Ash’s mouth twitches and then obnoxious pig noises erupt from him.

Jake shoots up from his seat and charges at him. “Okay, that’s enough out of you.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Terry intercepts before he can grab a hold of the smug little twerp.

_Damn his big, muscular body!_

“Jake, calm down.”

“You calm down!” he fires back before he can think.

(Though in hindsight, he wasn’t doing much thinking right at this moment, but acting on instinct.)

“Jake,” Amy calls, and he honestly wouldn't have turned if it isn't for the hurt in her voice.

He doesn’t like that her face is back to being crumpled and the need to comfort her wins out against the sudden urge to punch the kid in the face or yank on his stupid rattail. Clenching his jaw, he looks back to Terry, who nods and flicks his eyes to Amy behind him.

As Jake spins and returns to Amy’s side, he hears the Sergeant command crossly, “Scully, please escort the young man to the holding cell.”

“C’mon,” Jake mutters, picking up Amy’s purse from her desk tray and gently spinning her around in her chair. She doesn’t argue as he rolls her into Holt’s office and closes it shut behind them, which worries him a little. He helps her move to the couch and uses her chair as a foot rest then closes the blinds for more privacy as she digs around in her purse.

When he settles next to her, she’s holding out a small bottle of Purrell for him. He cracks a smile and feels himself relax as he reaches for it and obligingly squeezes out a blob.

As he’s spreading the cold gel over his hands, she pulls a decorative cushion to the small of her back, and he notices now that she only has on one shoe. Crap, he was so focused on bringing her somewhere away from the drama he completely forgot about it.

She starts to toe off the remaining shoe and he brings his gaze up to hers to see her watching him with a sullen expression.

He wants to urge her to talk to him—to gauge whether or not she’s okay—but knows she’ll speak up when she’s ready, so he shifts over and drapes an arm around her. She snuggles into his side, the curve of her shoulder filling his armpit. Like a gun in its holster.

“Do you think I’m disgusting?”

“No.”

“I do,” she murmurs, and he catches her fingers playing atop her belly. It reminds him of butterflies for some reason. “I feel bloated and disgusting.”

Biting his lip, he struggles for something to say that won’t minimise how she’s feeling but also makes her feel better. He reaches to still her hands and from the hand hanging from her shoulder, nudges her chin with the side of his finger, he waits until she’s looking at him.

Her brown eyes blink up at him, brows scrunched together and looking like an insecure, chubby deer. Anything but the confident weirdo he loves. Don’t get him wrong, he loves pregnant Amy. She’s the kind of woman who gains weight everywhere, and she’s squishy and soft and so comfortable to sleep with. And yeah, he can’t be the little spoon, but he likes that he gets to feel her in his hands, likes that he can hold her tummy and map out where the random little kicks are going to appear next.

“You’re pregnant, babe,” Jake finally says, straightening out her hands until the three hands are resting over the top of Baby Peralta protectively. “It’s hot.”

Her eyes narrow marginally. “… I can’t decide if that’s inappropriate or just plain wrong.” But then she laughs quietly, drawing a smile from him.

“There’s my beautiful peach.”

She smiles and he’s so happy to see that it’s genuine. “No fruits.”

He feigns a groan. “Give me _something_!”

“Just stick to the conventional, babe.”

“But that’s boring.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He leans forward the necessary few inches to kiss her, cupping her cheek in one hand as the one still around her shoulders squeezes her arm comfortingly.

She’s quick to respond, her breath whooshing out from her nose and tickling his upper lip. He can never get over how soft her lips are, and deepens the kiss. His hand slides from her belly to rest on her thigh. She hums and the vibrations makes his lips feel tingly.

Their kiss gets prematurely interrupted by a tiny nudge in his side and Amy pulls away with a chuckle, bringing a hand to her tummy where he felt the rude kick from the little bean.

_Sigh._

He better get used to that; the kid’s gonna be here for at least eighteen years.

(The thought should freak him out, but he’s the kind of scared-excited that he gets when he’s riding a rollercoaster. There are ups and downs that he won’t be able to see until its happening and so many things could go wrong, but he has Amy in the seat beside him to hold onto. And she’ll have a bag when he needs throws up.)

Amy drops her head onto his shoulder. “I hope Scully’s okay. That little punk was really mean to him.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead for her thoughtfulness before leaning his cheek on the crown of her head. “We’ll get him a cake. He’ll forget all about it.”

“Okay,” she says in a sigh.

He watches her toes wiggle and manoeuvres around to prop his own leg up beside hers, making her laugh. “What about ‘paperclip’?”

He can hear her curious frown when she asks, “Why?”

“’Cause you hold me together.”

(When Amy’s water breaks three weeks later, she is useless. He’s the one holding her together throughout labour until their baby boy is safely in their arms. He thinks maybe they're each other's paperclip.)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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End file.
